A Sky of Spells. Morgan Rice

Andronicus said, his low voice reverberating. “I do not wish to harm you.”

      “But I wish to harm you,” Thor replied, refusing to give in to Andronicus’ mind games.

      “Thornicus, my son,” Andronicus repeated, as Thor took a wary step closer, “I do not wish to kill you. Lay down your weapons and join me. Join me as you had before. You are my son. You are not their son. You carry my bloodline; you do not carry theirs. My homeland is your homeland; the Ring is but an adopted place for you. You are my people. These people mean nothing to you. Come home. Come back to the Empire. Allow me to be the father you always wanted. And become the son I always wanted you to be.

      “I will not fight you,” Andronicus said finally, as he lowered his axe.

      Thor had heard enough. He had to make a move now, before he allowed his mind to be swayed by this monster.

      Thor let out a battle cry, raised sword high and charged forward, bringing it down with both hands for Andronicus’ head.

      Andronicus stared back in surprise, then at the last second, he reached down, grabbed his axe from the ground, raised it and blocked Thor’s blow.

      Sparks flew off of Thor’s sword as the two of them locked weapons, inches away, each groaning, as Andronicus held back Thor’s blow.

      “Thornicus,” Andronicus grunted, “your strength is great. But it is my strength. I gave you this. My blood runs in your veins. Stop this madness, and join me!”

      Andronicus pushed Thor back, and Thor stumbled backwards.

      “Never!” Thor screamed, defiant. “I will never return to you. You are no father to me. You are a stranger. You don’t deserve to be my father!”

      Thor charged again, screaming, and brought his sword down. Andronicus blocked it, and Thor, expecting it, quickly spun around with his sword and slashed Andronicus’ arm.

      Andronicus cried out as blood squirted from his wound. He stumbled back and looked Thor over with disbelief, reaching over and touching his wound, then examining the blood on his hand.

      “You mean to kill me,” Andronicus said, as if realizing for the first time. “After all I’ve done for you.”

      “I most certainly do,” Thorgrin said.

      Andronicus studied him, as if studying a new person, and soon his look changed from one of wonder and disappointment, to one of anger.

      “Then you are no son of mine!” he screamed. “The Great Andronicus does not ask twice!”

      Andronicus threw down his sword, raised his battle axe with both hands, let out a great cry and charged for Thor. Finally, the battle had begun.

      Thor raised his sword to block the blow, but it came down with such force that, to Thor’s shock, it shattered Thor’s sword, breaking it in two.

      Thor quickly improvised, dodging out of the way as the blow continued to come down; it just grazed him, missing by an inch, so close he could feel the wind brush his shoulder. His father had tremendous strength, greater than any warrior he’d ever faced, and Thor knew this would not be easy. His father was fast, too – a deadly combination. And now Thor had no weapon.

      Andronicus swung around again without hesitating, swinging sideways, aiming to chop Thor in half.

      Thor leapt into the air, high over Andronicus his head, doing a somersault, using his inner powers to propel him, to bring him high in the air and land behind Andronicus. He landed on his feet, reached down and grabbed his father’s sword from the ground, spun around and charged, swinging for Andronicus’ back.

      But to Thor’s surprise, Andronicus was so fast, he was prepared. He spun around and blocked the blow. Thor felt the impact of metal hitting metal reverberate throughout his body. Andronicus’ sword, at least, held; it was stronger than his. It was strange, to hold his father’s sword – especially when facing his father.

      Thor swung around, and came down sideways for Andronicus’ shoulder. Andronicus blocked, and came down for Thor’s.

      Back and forth they went, attacking and blocking, Thor driving Andronicus back, and Andronicus, in turn, pushing Thor back. Sparks flew, the weapons moving so fast, gleaming in the light, their great clangs riveting the battlefield, the two armies watching, transfixed. The two great warriors pushed each other back and forth across the open clearing, neither gaining an inch.

      Thor raised his sword to strike again, but this time Andronicus surprised him by stepping forward and kicking him in the chest. Thor went flying backwards, landing on his back.

      Andronicus rushed forward and brought down his axe. Thor rolled out of the way, but not quickly enough: it sliced Thor’s bicep, just enough to draw blood. Thor cried out, but nonetheless, swung around, and swung his sword and sliced Andronicus’ calf.

      Andronicus stumbled and cried out, and Thor rolled back to his feet, as the two faced each other, each wounded.

      “I’m stronger than you, son,” Andronicus said. “And more experienced in battle. Give in now. Your Druid powers will not work against me. It is just me against you, man to man, sword to sword. And as a warrior, I am better. You know this. Yield to me, and I shall not kill you.”

      Thor scowled.

      “I yield to no one! Least of all you!”

      Thor forced himself to think of Gwendolyn, of what Andronicus had done to her, and his rage intensified. Now was the time. Thor was determined to finish Andronicus off, once and for all, to send this awful creature back to hell.

      Thor charged with a final burst of strength, giving it all he had, letting out a great cry. He brought his sword down left and right, swinging so fast he could barely contain it, Andronicus blocking each one, even as he was pushed back, step by step. The fighting went on and on, and Andronicus seemed surprised that his son could exhibit such strength, and for so long.

      Thor found his moment of opportunity when, for a moment, Andronicus’ arms grew tired. Thor swung for his axe head and connected, and managed to knock the blade from Andronicus’ hands. Andronicus watched it fly through the air, shocked, and Thor then kicked his father in the chest, knocking him down, flat on his back.

      Before he could rise, Thor stepped forward and placed a foot on his throat. Thor had him pinned, and he stood there, looking down at him.

      The entire battlefield was riveted as Thor stood over him, holding the tip of his sword to his father’s throat.

      Andronicus, blood seeping from his mouth, smiled between his fangs.

      “You cannot do it, son,” he said. “That is your great weakness. Your love for me. Just like my weakness for you. I could never bring myself to kill you. Not now, not your entire life. This entire battle is futility. You will let me go. Because you and I are one.”

      Thor stood over him, hands shaking as he held the sword tip at his father’s throat. Slowly, he raised it. A part of him felt his father’s words to be true. How could he bring himself to kill his father?

      But as he stared down, he considered all the pain, all the damage, his father had inflicted on everyone around him. He considered the price of letting him live. The price of compassion. It was too great a price to pay, not just for Thorgrin, but for everyone he loved and cared about. Thor glanced behind him and saw the tens of thousands of Empire soldiers whom had invaded his homeland, standing there, ready to attack his people. And this man was their leader. Thor owed it to his homeland. To Gwendolyn. And most of all, to himself. This man might be his father by blood, but that was all. He was not his father in any other sense of the word. And blood alone did not make a father.

      Thor raised his sword high, and with a great cry, he swung it down.

      Thor closed his eyes, and opened them to see the sword, embedded in the soil, right beside Andronicus’ head. Thor left it there and stepped back.

      His father had been right: he had been unable to do it. Despite everything, he just could not bring himself to kill a defenseless man.

      Thor turned his back on his father, facing